


Skeletons in the Closet

by snarechan



Series: Playing House [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Drama, Drama & Romance, Enemy Lovers, Knitting, M/M, Meet the Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: Returning home, to the beginning, to the past - in the hopes that a tomorrow can be had.





	Skeletons in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, like, almost _two years ago_ here is part two-of-three sequels to House of Lies, my collection of rusame mobster AUs. For those just joining us it's strongly recommended that readers peruse the [series page](https://archiveofourown.org/series/379654) first, as past events are referenced in this story that may lose some people if they're not familiar with the material I've written. 
> 
> I've honestly been sitting on this since I finished Fixer Upper, but a lot of things contributed to my losing momentum with the fandom, and writing in general. But I'm elated to announce that I've regained some of my previous energy and I want to finish as many WIPs as I can while the motivation is there. This includes Playing House - I've got a rough draft of the series epilogue, and I'm hoping to have it edited and posted by sometime in 2019. Until then, please enjoy this reconciliation piece months in the waiting. ~~Also keep your eyes peeled for the nod to one of my favorite Shrek moments of all time; you heard me right, I said SHREK.~~
> 
> My most heartfelt thanks and appreciation to Glyphenthusiast for beta reading this particular installment, as my previous editor for this series has moved up in the world. I'll miss Keppiehed and their contributions to my prior work will live on, but Glyph's generosity to step in and give me a helping hand has gone such a long way to improving my skills and providing the best fanfics I can. And as always, I want to credit [resident-longwinded-anon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/resident_longwinded_anon) on Tumblr for their [writing challenge post](http://resident-longwinded-anon.tumblr.com/post/99087361601/its-fairly-self-explanatory-i-think-i-was) that started this all.

Stress was a common factor in Ivan's profession. Some people gambled, or smoked, or drank heavily to survive the hardships. In Ivan’s case he knitted. He's on the intricate curve belonging to a sock when Alfred entered through the garage door, looking strung-out but satisfied, in a way.

"Welcome home. I did not expect you back so early," Ivan said. He glanced up, his fingers still maneuvering the yarn, as Ivan was confident he wouldn't drop a row at such a difficult stage of his craft.

"Yeah, hey," Alfred greeted him in return. His shoes and coat stayed on as he approached the back of the sofa. Tradition dictated that Alfred should loop an arm around to cup Ivan's forehead, pushing his bangs up at odd angles, and tilt his head so Alfred could kiss him on the nose. But he did none of these things. Rather, Alfred planted both hands on the headrest of the couch, and Ivan resumed his knitting with increased vigor.

Whatever explanation Alfred had for his early arrival wasn't delved into. Taking in the yarn and needles, he said, "You're knitting."

Ivan tried not to sound petulant as he said, "So I am."

"You only knit when you're upset," Alfred continued to state the obvious.

He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to keep them shut. "That is not true. I made you gloves for your birthday."

"Babe." Ivan's fingers fumbled for the first time. Alfred resorting to pet names in his own show of displeasure, while mild, did not help Ivan's mood and his aggravation mounted. "If you're avoiding having to tell me those mafia brothers backed out of our deal, then _so help me_ I will blow off their collective kneecaps myself."

"That? Is being dealt with," Ivan assured him, although he added, "It is not always knitting. Sometimes I crochet."

He refrained from staring at Alfred, but sensed the other man's gaze boring into him. Ignoring the scrutiny, Ivan reached a point in his work where he was close to finishing the article of clothing. He contemplated what pattern, if any, he should add to the cuff when Alfred wheedled, "If it's nothing to do with business then it must be personal."

Ivan found a suitable place to stop and let his project sink into his lap. He forewent the urge to rest his head back against the couch. They'd needed to trade in their previous suede sofa after it was shredded by mixed gunfire. Alfred replaced the piece of furniture with the bulkiest leather unit he could get his hands on. Its size suited Ivan's build, but the material didn't thrill him as the surface felt slippery to lean on.

"I may have received an… _urgent_ phone call today," Ivan said.

Alfred settled in and supported himself on his elbows rather than the heels of his hands. If Ivan were watching he figured Alfred would be crossing his ankles while leaning forward. Alfred asked, "A phone call from who?"

"From Russia," he said.

A lengthy pause, and then Alfred prompted, "Okay? Is that code for someone I'm not privy to? Because, last I checked, the county isn't a person."

"My associates, in my homeland, they wanted me to relay my recent practices. Send them updates. They are curious about the changes I have instigated." Notably, the parts where Ivan hadn't consulted any of his contacts about an outsider joining the inner workings of the organization. He didn't mention that detail, but the pointed look he sent Alfred conveyed the message.

Snorting, Alfred pushed off the couch and went into the kitchen. There wasn't much in the refrigerator. The two of them ate out often, either together or fending for themselves, depending on the day's agenda. Since their alcohol stores were decimated, Alfred retrieved a can of Coca Cola he'd stashed into the cooler. He popped the tab, its contents fizzing loudly, and said, "I take it you're needed in person to address some of those 'changes'? Probably to do with our merger, I reckon."

Ivan had dreaded this moment. Despite his reservations, he said, " _Our_. Our presence is requested."

A blond eyebrow rose over the rim of the upturned aluminum can. "I don't care for public appearances, you know that." Unsaid was how terrible the _last_ reveal went, it hanging over their collective heads. "Did you try telling your ringleaders or whatever as much?"

"I explained your preference for discretion, yes, but there are those who are insistent. I've tried reasoning on your behalf, but they are adamant that you meet with them in person before the alliance is endorsed." Ivan's hands resumed twisting the threads of pastel yellow, green, and pink yarn for lack of anything else to do while he waited for Alfred to make a decision.

Alfred leaned against the counter, now professionally poured cement rather than granite, and nursed his soda. At last, he said, "Where do they want to meet? It needs to be secured and private. I'm not inviting them to my new airport. We just finalized the purchase and I'm in the process of renovation." The implication that if it got shot up with gunfire and set on fire, like his previous airfield, then there would be more than just bloodshed at stake.

"Those concerns will not be an issue where we are going," Ivan reassured him. His next statement would be the real challenge. "It is more a question of getting us there that you may not like."

"Your people aren't coming to the good ole' U.S. of A., huh?" Ivan's confirmation wasn't required; Alfred had obviously figured out the answer for himself. Finishing his cola, he tapped the bottom of the container on the cabinet at his back three precise times. Alfred concluded, "I don't like this. Not one bit."

"I understand."

"No. I _really_ don't fucking like this." Alfred raised a finger with the hand still holding onto his canned drink to silence Ivan. "I'm not saying I won't go. I just want it to be clear that I'm unhappy about this little trip."

"I know," Ivan said.

Ivan's shoulders sagged with relief, but no sooner than the thought of how this conversation went smoother than he could have hoped, Alfred said, "But if we're going to another country then I'm flying us there."  
  
  
  
  
Which is why Ivan found himself several thousand meters in the air, hands clenched on the armrests of his seat and safety belt still buckled in place.

Truthfully, Alfred wasn't a reckless pilot. The flight thus far was one of Ivan's better experiences in an airplane. He wasn't certain how Alfred had come to possess his personal model, but it sported high-end finishes and a fully stocked mini bar.

Even if Alfred's pension (more like a bias) for flying wasn't apparent, this method _was_ faster for them to travel, rather than by sea. Ivan wanted this visit over as quickly as his partner did. That didn't alter the fact he couldn't bear to slide the window cover up and see outside, or move further than the chair he was strapped in to.

A _click-crackle_ at Ivan's ear caused him to bolt in his seat, the strap and clasp digging into his stomach. Alfred's voice filtered through the intercom speakers. " _How you holding up?_ "

Searching for the source, he found the button to respond, "Are we close?"

Surprised laughter, and then, " _Yeah, we're almost to the airport. I radioed the local tower and we've been approved for landing. Give it another twenty minutes and you can kiss the ground again_." Twenty minutes was a bit of a stretch, but their descent went smoothly. They taxied the runway long enough to permit Ivan gathering his things and righting the compartment to how he found it.

" _The landing crew is here. Go ahead and disembark. I'll meet you after I complete my final check_ ," were Alfred's instructions over the PA.

He didn't need encouragement; Ivan was all too relieved to exit the plane. At the bottom of the stairs waited an older man with peppered hair, dressed in a basic suit that was admittedly a little dated looking. Recognizing his childhood associate, Ivan greeted him in Russian. "It is good to see you, old friend."

"It has been too long," Winters said, also in Russian. The expression he wore seemed strict under his mustache, but Ivan understood that was just his way. Accepting Ivan's carry-on bag, he escorted him to the parked limo, where they caught up while Alfred finished with his arrangements.

Once all their luggage was transferred, Alfred ducked out and seemed to be harassing one of the ground crewmen. Most likely he listed off, in excessive detail, what he expected to be done to his aircraft during his absence. Ivan called out to him, motioning expectantly to the vehicle, but Alfred shook his head and raised a pointer finger in demand for patience.

"I'm afraid we'll be here awhile longer," Ivan said, and deigned to enter the backseat.

Winters opened the door and warned, "You know they do not care to be kept waiting. This will be most upsetting."

Ivan nodded, but didn't heed his advice. A newspaper and warm drinks kept him occupied. Curious about the state of affairs in his absence, he read up to the obituaries when Alfred joined him. Slamming the door himself, Alfred took a seat opposite of Ivan and said, "If I come back and find a single scratch on my baby? I'm holding you financially accountable."

"You fret too much. Nothing will happen," Ivan told him without looking up from reading his current article. The engine of the limo turned over and the vehicle pulled out of the airport.

"And what's with Jeeves? The guy has the same personality as a block of ice."

Ivan scoffed and flipped the page. "You did not call him that, did you?"

"No! Give me some credit. I just wanted to know why he was giving me the stink eye."

"You must forgive Winters. He served with my predecessor." The Soviet military and its government had been kind to their business, to say the least. Their particular branch had run a third of the country before the collapse. Ivan didn't expand on that detail much. "The man takes certain aspects like punctuality very serious."

"I sense a deeper story in all that, but I'll let it slide," Alfred said. Overall, Ivan was surprised he _hadn't_ been pressured for specifics. The man had a way of pestering for information. Sometimes Alfred was subtle enough to gauge more than what was offered. Other times, he was so blunt that no one could help but be surprised into answering truthfully.

"What I really want to know is why we're on this cockamamie trip to start with. You're the boss, ain'tcha? Should have told your generals where to stick it. Not like their opinions matter in the long run." Ivan turned another page and drew the newspaper up higher. He may have mumbled his response because Alfred wrenched the flimsy barrier back down. "Wait. _What_ was that?"

It was an effort for Ivan not to clear his throat before he reiterated, "I merely stated that you may be functioning under certain, ah… _misconceptions_."

"Misconceptions?" Alfred parroted. His tone rose at the end of the word. "Please tell me I've not been— been _slumming it_. You are The Boss, right? And we're just visiting your host factions boys or whatever? To straighten them out?"

Now Ivan looked insulted. "'Slumming it'?"

"You know what I meant! And don't change the subject." Pressing in closer, Alfred was practically in his lap.

"I am a boss. Close to top, head of distribution," he relented.

Alfred let out a soft 'oh' as he contemplated the answer. His shoulders loosened and the grip he had on the newspaper slackened. "So, like, we're actually going to see your Russian version of the Godfather? That might not be so bad. We meet, we schmooze, and we call it a day?"

"Not exactly."

He stared at Ivan for all of five seconds. Releasing the newspaper, Alfred sat back in his seat and said, "I can't believe you've forced me to do this."

Ivan became aptly aware of how tight their quarters were. He was also reminded that it was _him_ who insisted that if Alfred refused to go with an accompanying entourage, then it was best if he carried a gun. The weapon would only serve as temporary protection since it would be confiscated when they arrived at the private estate, but Ivan hadn't considered the threat it might pose to him in the meantime.

Alfred slammed down on the controls that lowered the window separating their cabin in the limo and stuck his head through the opening. "Yo, Frost—"

"Winters," Ivan corrected softly, and was subsequently ignored.

"—take a detour and head to the nearest McDonald’s, will ya?" Their chauffeur's response was indistinguishable to Ivan, but he already knew the answer. Such an establishment didn't exist in this remote an area. The information was no doubt explained and accounted for Alfred's rise in pitch. "Tch, fine! Then the nearest burger place … No, I don't care how much later we'll be. Find me somewhere with beef patties on a bun and a side of fries or someone in this car isn't going to make it to our final destination!"

Closing off their section of the limo, Alfred turned on Ivan again. "This is all your fault. You know I'm a stress eater! How long were you going to wait to tell me all this, huh?"

"It is complicated. There is much history to wade through."

"Well," Alfred said, tilting his head in such a way that his glasses reflected the low lighting in the cabin and hid his eyes, "we have an even longer car ride ahead of us. I'd say you've got time to explain some things."

Longer car ride, indeed.  
  
  
  
  
The environment shifted from industrial sprawls to high traffic streets the longer Ivan spoke.

Now, he rested his chin on the palm of his hand and stared outside the window. He watched as more densely populated trees dotted the side of the road. A manor came into view. The property was secluded, nestled amongst firs and pines that matched or even surpassed the height of the three-story residence. A curved, cobblestone driveway led to the front entrance.

The limo slowed to a stop. Ivan straightened in his seat and reached to shake Alfred awake. When Ivan ran out of things to say, Alfred instructed Ivan to wake him up 'when we get there'. He'd claimed needing peace and quiet to process all the information, if he was to get into a 'zone'.

Arranging the last minute flight, much less whisking them off in his plane, must have exhausted him. Unlike Alfred, Ivan was unable to rest so easily. He was uncertain what their sleeping habits said about either one of them in this situation.

The gesture was pointless. A breath away and Alfred jumped to awareness, scattering food containers to the floor. He looked around a moment and saw how near Ivan was. He stretched. "Mm, we make it?"

It was unnecessary, but Ivan retracted his hand and confirmed, "Yes, we have reached the agreed rendezvous point."

Alfred caught sight of the old home midway through adorning his jacket. He whistled. "Yikes, are you sure this is the place? It looks kind of haunted. I've seen deserted warehouses with better curb appeal."

He was certain; Ivan had grown up captive here long enough to never forget it. Ivan refrained from commenting and stepped outside as Winters opened the door for him. A second later someone's voice called out, "Big brother!" and arms constricted tight around Ivan's midsection.

"Natalya," he said. Unsure where to place his hands, Ivan rested one on her shoulder and the other on top of her hair. "It is a relief to see you in good health."

"You are late," she said and pulled back far enough to stare up at him accusingly. His youngest sister waited to discern if he would make up for the perceived slight.

"My apologies. I—" Saved from having to promise anything, Alfred stepped out of the car and provided Ivan the excuse he needed. The man's coat was immaculate and hair restyled, belying the fact he'd stuffed himself and slept the past hour. "Ah, Natalya Arlovskaya, this is the new business associate I discussed with you in our last phone call."

"Alfred F. Jones. The 'F' is short for fabulous, although as Mr. Braginasky tells it, not as fabulous as you," he finished the introductions. Alfred didn't shake her hand, instead taking hold like he was going to lay a kiss on the back of it, but he just rested his thumb overtop.

"You wouldn't believe how highly he's spoken of the family! It's a pleasure to finally put a face to the name." The flick of Alfred's eyes behind his glasses didn't betray much, but Ivan suspected the statement was directed at him. Presumably, in reference to Ivan's lack of details until just earlier.

Both siblings openly gawked at him. Natalya slid her hand free and turned to address Ivan. "Big sister is waiting, too. You should hurry."

"Of course."

She led them inside, into a foyer where a maid volunteered to take their jackets. Alfred opted to keep his coat on and waved off the service. However, he relinquished his weapon before anyone could discretely search for guns. He twirled it in one hand and offered the gun to the servant by the reinforced grip. Natalya didn't bat an eye at the pistols appearance, just escorted them to the formal dining room where a small sampling of tea and bread were waiting. Seated at the table was his oldest sibling, Irunya. She leapt to her feet at their entrance.

"Oh! It is so good to see you," she gushed. Irunya enveloped Ivan in a great, big hug and kissed both his cheeks. "Too long, too long! I worried that you had forgotten the way."

"Impossible," Ivan reassured her. He tentatively returned the gesture, the contact soft and warm like he remembered. After she was made to stay in Ukraine full-time and set up shop there, he wasn't sure the contact would feel the same. Ivan really had been away for too extended a period.

Around his arm, Irunya spotted Alfred and let out a gasp. She released him to motion the group toward the table. "Forgive my manners, Mister Jones. Please, you must be exhausted from the trip, and famished. Sit, sit!"

"Thanks, uh, Miss…?"

"Irunya Chernenko." She took a seat and folded her hands in front of her. "I am the – how do you say it? Bookie?" Irunya giggled. "Yes, I am in charge of the finances! Our mama used to say I have a keen eye for—"

"Do not bore him with your ramblings when we have crucial matters to address," Natalya interrupted. She took her own seat, her skirt billowing out and eyes unblinking.

"Ahah, and you have met our enforcer," Irunya said amicably. "What she means to say is that I do hope you will not be offended if we discuss important dealings over dinner. We have just a few questions for you."

"Right, no biggie. It looks like I'm acquainted with the whole family. No reason to delay things," Alfred said. A servant pulled out his chair, directing Alfred to sit opposite of both sisters. Ivan was seated at the head of the table, between the three of them. He didn't feel much in charge of the conversation, however, and had a sinking suspicion he would be mediating.

"Wonderful! Isn't this nice?" Irunya twirled her wrist and the staff rushed off to grab more food and drinks at her insistence. Ivan recognized the expression on her face, and the similar one Natalya wore, too. Dinner would be the last thing on either of their minds.  
  
  
  
  
And those 'things' could have been worse, Ivan mused while readying for bed. Alfred handled the interrogation masked as idle small talk well. Ivan worried that he hadn't prepped him enough for the encounter. There was no conceivable way someone could be ready for the pair, but Alfred's tongue proved as quick and witty as ever.

When they had finished their meal, Irunya had insisted on speaking to Ivan privately. She claimed a familial matter and non-discretely asked Natalya to give their guest a grand tour of the property. Ivan had concerns about leaving Alfred alone with his youngest sibling, but the other man had proven himself resourceful.

Once they were alone, Irunya's real topics of discussion on her impressions thus far were positive. Ivan only hoped Natalya shared Irunya's opinion, not just because he valued Natalya's insight, but for Alfred's safety. Ivan had yet to broach the subject of how intimate, exactly, a partnership he shared with Alfred and if he wanted this to succeed then they needed to prove themselves here.

In the seclusion of his personal bathroom, going over the events of the day, Ivan identified rustling sounds by the bedroom window. The scratching resembled a small animal clawing its way inside, but this pest was smarter. The disturbance originated near the brass flip lock.

The overhead lights in the attached room were low and aided Ivan as he crept towards the opening undetected. The hook unlatched when Ivan was within reach. He flung the window open first and prevented the intruder from sneaking their way inside.

By their shirt collar he wrenched them through the window. Ivan slammed the prowler to the floor and was on top of them before they had the opportunity to retaliate. Ivan's knees were on either side of their hips and the length of one arm pressed under their chin, cutting off their air.

Staring them in the eye, Ivan startled and said, "Alfred?"

Alfred didn't reply; his face turned a distinct shade of red and then quickening purple. Ivan sat up and removed his arm in the process, allowing Alfred to cough and gasp for air. He noticed that during the scuffle Alfred hadn't released his hold on the switchblade he'd used to jury-rig the window, but he'd held it off to the side to prevent the threat of blood loss. Ivan demanded, "Why are you sneaking into my room?"

"Why…why are you…naked?" Alfred wheezed in return.

"I ask you more important question."

"But _why_ …are you _naked?_ " he asked again. Oddly, he focused on Ivan's bare and expansive chest. Alfred appeared dazed; Ivan worried his preemptive strike may have been too effective.

He shifted off the other man and adjusted his towel, but refused to fiddle with the material too much. Ivan didn't want to appear self-conscious under Alfred's stare in case he mistook desire for calculation. "I shower before bed, you know this. I was preparing to sleep, as you should. Now, what were your intentions on entering my room?"

"Oh. Thank you, dear. I'm so glad you asked me about my day," Alfred said. By the extra sweet overtones Ivan could tell this was going to turn into one of _those_ conversations. Resigning himself to the incoming gripe session, Ivan went to close the window and shut out the draft. "Turns out my 'partner' works with his two sisters—"

"Half-sisters," Ivan corrected him, and returned to the bathroom to resume his routine. Over the sounds of brushing his teeth he heard Alfred breathe through his nose. He made a show of slowly clicking the knife closed and sliding it in his shoe.

"Uh-huh. Half-sisters. The youngest of which just spent the last couple hours showing me her blade collection."

Ivan's hand stopped moving with his toothbrush still in his mouth, forcing him to ask around it. "Natalya gave you a personal visit to her knife showroom? Which set did you see?"

"I was stuck with her for the rest of the evening, Ivan! She showed me _all of them_. I still can't tell if she was threatening or propositioning me with the way she talked about her skinning knives. She explained twenty – motherfucking twenty, do you understand me? – different ways of removing a man's foreskin without killing them. Like she'd learned to do during her _incarceration_."

Ivan assumed Alfred hesitated to intake some air, which wasn't the case with how breezily he continued with, "By the way, and this is just an aside, but she looks _really good_ for having spent three years in Belarus high security." In the same breath, Alfred regained his train of thought. "I mean, sure, our 'talk' was educational for our line of work, but this isn't exactly how I pictured a first meeting with your family going down."

"I do not think she _dis_ likes you," Ivan said, after deciphering Alfred's spiel and giving it some serious consideration. Rare was it that Natalya showed her prized blades to anyone, much less allowed them to leave the showroom unscathed. That she intentionally revealed her favorite sets of knives was telling of something, although Ivan couldn't begin to decipher the particulars of it.

"Oh. Oh, that's great. I'm so glad I'm bonding with your sister. Who you so happen to be sharing the business with. Since you're not the boss-boss." Walking over to the bathroom, Alfred leaned against the doorframe. He raised his hands, fingers splayed, when Ivan lifted his head to correct him. "Half-sisters, sharing the business with your _half-sisters_. I got it! Didn't realize the distinction mattered in the scheme of things."

Ivan rinsed out his mouth and grabbed a washcloth to pat his face dry. "You are upset."

The look Alfred directed towards him portrayed 'you're just now picking up on that?', but what he said was, "We're way past upset. All I'm saying is a little more warning earlier would've been appreciated." His tongue ran along his bottom lip as he seemed to debate with himself, before settling on, "Especially the part about needing to split the organization after your old man bit it."

He stopped mid-motion. "You were…told this during your visit?"

Alfred shrugged. "Nat didn't say anything to me, if that's what you're asking. But FYI, people tend to be more open when they think you can't understand their language."

In other words, the staff were gossiping. Ivan would have to mention something to them about increased caution, but later. Alfred was still talking.

"That's why you wanted to expand to international trade, isn't it? Makes sense to help stay afloat. What I _don't_ understand is why you guys split the responsibility rather than keeping a single figurehead. Kind of boggles my mind."

"Unorthodox, yes, but the method has proven effective," Ivan said, refusing to elaborate further. He passed Alfred to enter the bedroom and change into his nightclothes.

Alfred collapsed on the four-poster bed behind him. His body hit the thick mattress hard enough to unsettle the covers. He took up the whole center and forced Ivan to squeeze in on one side after turning off the bathroom lights.

He'd shoved his hands under his glasses to rub at his eyes. Ivan went ahead and removed the eyewear to make it easier for Alfred. He said, "You complain, but you performed admirably. Natalya is harmless unless provoked and Irunya has taken a shining to you. She is impressed with your talk of numbers, I think."

When Alfred simply grunted at the compliment, Ivan couldn't resist running his fingers along Alfred’s forehead and sweeping aside the fringe of blond hair that'd settled there. "If you are tired, return to your room and sleep."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Alfred asked, his words muffled against the palm of his hands.

"For tonight I will not deny to dissuading the idea. Irunya and Natalya have not taken this degree of a shining to you, at least not yet. Let us not test them, should they catch us in this position."

"I _mean_ , you've done nothing but try your best to avoid me! What's the deal?"

Hand going still, Ivan's fingers remained in Alfred's hair and tucked behind his ear. "It is not intentional. This period is a test and we cannot give anyone reason to object. Not at this stage."

"That's nice," he said with less sarcasm than Ivan expected. Alfred rolled onto his side, head propped on his hand as he caught Ivan's gaze. "But that isn't all. You're not _you_ , I can tell."

"Neither are you," Ivan snapped. He regretted the slip as soon as he made it and he attempted to disguise the flub. "I must act different in front of many people – my men, my family, as we all must. You understand."

Alfred wasn't deterred. "Ya know, it's not like you've been your endearing self, either."

Ivan wouldn't admit it was true. They'd been skirting around each other like wounded wolves ever since that night-they-dare-not-speak-of. A time when the lies and bullets and tears changed everything between them.

Weeks turned into months as Ivan and Alfred relearned who each of them were. There was a lot of deception and distrust to wade through, not to mention their respective organizations were just as hesitant to work together after so long at odds. Yet the group dynamics were improving faster than their relationship was at times, escalating Ivan's doubts.

"I do not know what you are implying," Ivan said. He settled on his back and clasped both hands over his chest. Maybe the posture would persuade Alfred to take a hint and leave. Instead, he heard fabric shifting and peeked open an eye to see Alfred making himself comfortable.

His position mimicked Ivan's: fingers twined together on his chest and back flat on the mattress, albeit the other man stayed overtop the bedcovers. Alfred's right incisor worked on his bottom lip; a tell of his indicting, on those rare occasions, when he considered doing something he didn't wish to. Ivan tensed, wondering if Alfred was about to say—

"Huh. Okay, how about I trade you?"

—something asinine, apparently. Uncertain whether or not he was disappointed that Alfred avoided the topic Ivan tried to drop in the first place, he sighed and accepted his participation in all this. "What do you propose we exchange?"

"I've learned a lot about you today and none of it was your idea, right? Right. So why not trade in questions? I get to ask you one and you get to ask me one. Anything is fair game," Alfred suggested.

"You said yourself: I am at a disadvantage. This trade does not seem even," he said, pointedly _not_ refusing the idea outright.

"Ugh, fine. How about you get two?"

Mulling over the bid, Ivan counter-offered. "Five."

" _Two_."

"Four, then."

"Three, and I'll throw in the MACs I lifted last month. That should get your boys up to snuff after your deal goes through with the Vargas brothers," Alfred said.

Ivan did want his men properly equipped again. Knowing Alfred's tastes, the guns would be just what he needed to be at full force. It used to aggravate him, being on the receiving end of Alfred's thefts, but now Ivan couldn't deny that he was pleased at the wider range of wares he could possess or sell. Humming in assent, he asked, "Why have you not said 'it'?"

Alfred's reaction was comical and immediate. His brows cinched close together and his lip hiked up in confusion. "What? You're asking the wrong thing."

There were obviously a few questions Alfred had expected and prepared for. Ivan had made it apparent that the man's past had piqued his interest. He could have asked about Alfred's mysterious youth, his absent family, his _original name_ …

But he'd settled on his first inquiry and refused to change it.

"You have the tenacity and single-mindedness of a pit bull, anyone ever tell you that?" Alfred asked, but broached the topic without waiting for a reply. "Would you even believe me if I said the words?"

"Perhaps."

Alfred scooted closer until he leaned into Ivan's side. The heat from his body seeped through the covers. A hand cupped Ivan's cheek and guided their foreheads together.

Looking into his eyes, Alfred said, "I've wanted to kill you since the day you botched my first big deal. Months of building and exchanging inventory, and the night before I'm to smuggle the whole shebang out of the city and the fuel lines of my two most prized airplanes were cut. I couldn't believe it. Nobody had gotten one up on me in a long time.

"Since then I've been threatened, shot at, stabbed, coerced…and gotten some pretty swanky digs, if I do say so myself. You're going to be the death of me. And _I love you_ for it."

Ivan shuddered. He pressed closer to return the affection, to kiss, but Alfred's smirk brushed the corner of his mouth. "My turn. Nat and I were reminiscing about our prison sentences and she told me _all_ about her tattoos. Including the 'family crest’."

Meaning the affiliation mark that signified their faction. Every member of the Bratva sported the insignia, announcing ties. Here, Alfred made a point to trail his eyes up and down Ivan's body. "Funny thing is, I've seen a lot – and I mean a _lot –_ of you, but I don't recall any markings. So where's yours hiding?"

It was unclear if he was joking, but that did not stop Ivan from reaching for Alfred's hand and sliding it under the covers. He guided lower, to the inside of his thigh.

"Oh, ah, huh. I hadn't thought to check there." Alfred's hand clenched, digging into the sensitive skin underneath Ivan's pajamas. His throat sounded rough when he said, "Your second question should totally be what I'd do to you right now if your family couldn't overhear us."

Ivan shushed him and said, "I would rather know, if you could run away from all of this, run away with _me_ , would you?"

Alfred whimpered. "You really are trying to kill me. What kind of question _is_ that? Are you avoiding the personal stuff on purpose to spite me?"

"You do not have to answer now."

And for the rest of the night, he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [writing blog on Tumblr](http://snaurus.tumblr.com/) for more content!


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